


Pride Goeth Before A Fall

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Series: Perpetual Nonesense [6]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M, Physical Abuse, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1888. Lord Francis Stokes had meant no harm, but Alistair Blackpool did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride Goeth Before A Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameWinter/gifts).



Alistair scowled at the paper scrap. He had copied the numbers - he knew those - meticulously. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what the other symbols meant, because the numbers were different. They were different and he hadn’t spend anything. He had no income so that ruled out positive mutations. Besides, it was nowhere near the end of the week. Alistair glanced across the sunroom where Francis lounged in a divan like a spoiled princess. His scowl darkened. Why? Why had he taken it? He had plenty of money of his own. Or so he said. Alistair’s scowl turned positively foul.

"Francis." The full stop was practically audible in its force.

Francis looked up from his poetry bundle. “What is it, handsome?” He smiled. The smile merely served to irritate Alistair further. When no answer came Francis put the bundle away and rose. “What’s wrong?” His smile faltered for a moment as he sauntered over. Alistair kept looking at him accusingly and Francis didn’t understand why. He knew he could tell him anything, right? He wasn’t one to judge. That would be pretty hypocrite. Besides, what could it possibly be? Perhaps he had lost one of his knives again? He’d been ridiculously upset about that last time. Francis rubbed his arm at the memory.

"What’s wrong?" Francis repeated, more tentatively now. He reached out a hand to touch Alistair’s shoulder but Alistair slapped it away before it was anywhere near him. Alistair shoved a scrap paper he held in his other hand under Francis’ nose. It was part of a financial balance. Something unpleasant squirmed in the pit of Francis’ stomach. Oh no. No. No. _NO._

"The numbers ain’t matching up, _love.”_ Francis cringed at the sharpness with which Alistair pronounced his favoured cognomen. It sounded like an insult now. A loathing grin appeared on Alistair’s face when he saw Francis’ reaction. He’d been right then. He’d been right all along. “Is it no longer fun enough to waste only your daddy’s fortune from under his nose?”

Wait. _What?_ Francis stared at Alistair. What was he going on about? Before Francis could say anything Alistair’s hand closed around his throat. “Al-!” he managed to wheeze as he pawed at Alistair’s wrist. Francis was running out of oxygen fast and the psychic backwash of Alistair’s storming temper was making him dizzy.

"I should have known. Little spoiled brat like you." Alistair all but growled as he pushed Francis backwards, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of Francis’ neck. He could feel the muscles, the ribbed cartilage of his windpipe. It would be so easy to… his thoughts snapped away at the pitiful noise Francis made. "Yes. Squeal. That’s all you _can_ do, innit? Squeal and spend men's money." He slammed Francis against the glass balcony doors without letting go. "You are just another dirty puzzle."

Francis wanted to explain. He hadn’t actually used it. He’d just put it in a different account. He pushed in vainly at Alistair’s arm. The stocky Londoner had always been stronger. Francis had just put it in a different account. He’d thought. He’d thought that Alistair would stay if his funds ran out. That he wouldn’t prefer the streets. _And whores_ , an unkind voice within his thoughts reminded him. _He does like_ them. _And they’re cheap_.

_Unlike you. How much money do you spend? A day?_ The voice continued. _You’re an expensive keep. I bet even more expensive than Nevermoor’s little dolly. At least he knows he’s spending his hard-earned pounds on some air-headed ninny._ I didn’t spend it! Francis wanted to shout. Tears stung in his eyes. He’d merely put it in a different account. He’d merely wanted to make Alistair stay.

Alistair’s anger flared at the tears, an admission of guilt as sure as any words. He slammed Francis against the frame of the doors again and again and he never heard the glass splinter into a thousand crystals nor felt the rain as they sprawled under his momentum onto the stone balcony.

"Al, I am sorry!" Francis managed before Alistair dragged him out from underneath him, their bodies pressed so close together Francis could feel Alistair’s heartbeat, as solid and accusing as his calloused fingers pressing into his throat.

"Not nearly sorry enough," Alistair hissed through a fierce grin. He suddenly knew just how he could spend Francis’ money in turn. He stood up and dragged Francis up with him. He put his free arm around Francis’ waist and helped him sit up on the balcony’s railing as he leaned back against it. His grin tempered into a smile, as if something amused him. He let go of Francis’ throat.

"I am sorry," Francis croaked. He was clearly trying very hard not to burst in tears. At least it was raining.

"I know princess." Alistair soothed as he brushed a strand of Francis’ wet, red hair away from his forehead.

Francis leaned into his touch despite himself, glad the storm had broken.

"I love you, you know," Alistair remarked as he leaned towards Francis and kissed him.

Francis’ heart skipped with joy, staggering through a dozen beats as he returned the kiss. “I love you too,” he whispered between their lips.

"Still," Alistair added as he pulled back far too soon. "I don’t think I’ll miss you for a little while."

Wait. What?

Alistair smiled and shoved him backwards.

Francis screamed.

Alistair’s smile broadened as he rose and turned, the splash of emotions hitting him like a refreshing shower. He lingered a moment, waiting for the inevitable thump. It was really rather disappointingly unimpressive when it came. A wet flop like a sack from a cart. Typical. No crying either, nor calling out his name. The little weakling had probably fainted.

Bored, Alistair sauntered back into the house, idly wondering how much the medical bills would cost Francis. Probably enough.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought on it. And please, share this story freely but credit me and link back to me. Thank you!


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